


Blame

by lillyofthevally



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU after finale, Biphobia, Character Study, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Biphobia, M/M, POV Alternating, Past Child Abuse, Slowish build, a phobia party, daryl speaks in grunt morse code, internalized ableism, more tags will be added when I'm not half asleep, with multiple characters? I guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:55:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9107524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillyofthevally/pseuds/lillyofthevally
Summary: Missing scenes from the finale on (obviously mostly AU though I'll try to knock it back on track once TWD comes back in February) basically Jesus adopts Daryl and lets him camp out in his trailer until its safe to return to Alexandria and this gives Daryl an unfortunate amount of time to think.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I wrote most of this in the wee hours of the morning so I blame any errors on my sleep deprivation. I live for feedback and suggestions. Also I (the Author) am bisexual and am pulling a lot of Daryl's experiences from my own personal ones, however Paul is gay and so I pulled from my best friend's experiences (yes he did almost get kicked out of school once, homophobia is alive and well). 
> 
> (also this fic title is shamelessly stolen from the bastille song "Blame" which is basically what I listened to on repeat while writing this.)

   Paul was used to his plans kicking him in the ass. In high school he had asked out this guy, a friend of his, who had politely turned him down. Paul had thought that would be the end of it, that they could still be friends. The next Monday he was called into the principle’s office, his parents were already there. His friend told the principle that Paul had been stalking him, harassing him. He was given the choice to voluntarily change schools or be expelled for sexual harassment. In his new school girls liked him. He was cute as a kid, small, a harmless ‘gay best friend’ type. He thought maybe that would spare him, not being a threat to the other kids, but it didn’t. They lived in a pretty liberal area, all things considered, but Paul learned early on that there are assholes no matter where you go. Even in the in the apocalypse.

   He also learned that he got into fights with aforementioned assholes. The second time he came home with a broken hand and a split lip his dad signed him up for self-defense classes. Paul loved those classes, he took as many as he could, as often as he could, well into adulthood. They were a way for him to blow off steam and a way for him to protect himself, but more importantly, to protect other kids that the bullies would target. He got good at being able to spot someone who was being singled out in a crowd, and even better at learning how best to help them get out of whatever situation they were in. His dad always said he would have made a fantastic social worker.

   The first time Paul met Daryl Dixon and Rick Grimes, when they got between something he wanted, he felt that phantom ache in his hand. The ache didn’t really improve with time. Rick seemed like a stand-up guy, and the rest of his crew were, as far as he could tell, good people. But Paul couldn’t get a solid read on Dixon.

   Everything about his first impression screamed “bigoted asshole” in flashing red strip-club neon. Look up ‘redneck’ in the dictionary and you could probably find a picture of someone with a startling resemblance to Daryl Dixon, if any dictionaries had survived the apocalypse. Punching a guy after he saves your life while grunting ‘my gun’ isn’t exactly endearing either. Still the guy clearly had layers, he didn’t leave Paul in a tree after all, and he didn’t punch him again on the ride back to Alexandria.

   Paul found out that he had been tipping that pop machine to find a coke for Denise’s girlfriend, that the guy apparently had been adopted by Aaron and Eric, and that, from the state of his head still being attached to his body, he clearly had never been a racist dick to Michonne. So he was maybe, probably, wrong. The guy might not be that bad, but fuck if Daryl didn’t make it hard to like him.

   After Glenn’s death, with Maggie and Sasha moving in, Paul heard a lot of stories about Daryl. Both Maggie and Sasha seemed to like the guy, especially Maggie who talked about him like a younger brother.

   One of the first times he saw her smile after Glenn died was when he told her about how Daryl had chased him down in the middle of that field. When Sasha asked him to go on the scouting mission he had agreed, more out of respect for both women then for any kind of desire to help Daryl escape.

   Still once he got there, once he saw Daryl standing over that man, he knew he should have come sooner. Even if Daryl really had been a bigoted fucker, no one deserved to go through whatever made him look like that. As things stood Daryl didn’t need much rescuing, he already had done the hard part himself.

   He did look half crazed and Paul wasn’t one hundred percent sure that getting on the bike with him was the best idea, but when had his ideas ever been sane, really this was only the latest in a string of questionable life choices. When Daryl said,

“I got the keys, lets go.” Paul got.

   They made it a solid half hour outside of the savior compound before Daryl swerved to the side of the road and staggered to the weeds that were slowly reclaiming the highway. Paul could hear him retching dryly, his back jerking as he braced his arms on his knees. It lasted for five minutes before Daryl’s knees buckled and Paul got off the bike in a hurry. He barely remembered to throw the kickstand before scrambling over to where Daryl had fallen. He looked worse now; out of the context of the savior compound, pale and bruised, with his eyes so swollen they looked more like plums than anything. Paul wasn’t entirely sure how he had been able to see enough to drive. Gingerly Paul crouched down beside Daryl and touched his shoulder. Immediately the man cringed away and Paul pulled back putting his hands up, palms out,

“hey, hey,” he said, “its ok. I just wanted to make sure you were still with me.”

   Paul rifled through his pockets until he came up with a flask of water and one of his bandanas. He offered the water to Daryl first, unscrewing the lid and splashing some of the contents over Daryl’s head when he didn’t take it. Daryl shot up swearing; making a halfhearted grab for Paul and his flask, but his attempt was easily dodged. When Paul offered him the flask a second time Daryl accepted it and poured what was left into his mouth. it got most of the bitter taste of bile Paul handed him his bandana to wipe his mouth after he finished. Daryl shoved both back to Paul after he was done with them, leaving both men to sit in silence on the side of the road in bumfuck nowhere.

“I can’t go back.” Daryl said, finally, “Not without Glenn, and Abe, and fucking Maggie and her kid. Fuck Tara probably doesn’t even know about Denise yet. They’ll all know it was my damn fault. I can’t go back. Can’t face Rick or Sasha or fuckin anyone.”

   Daryl had curled in on himself, digging his hands into his hair and hiding his face from Paul. Somewhere to their left a twig snapped, making both of them jerk around. The woods were still again. It wasn’t a walker, probably just a bird, but it reminded Paul that they didn’t exactly have a lot of time to waste. Paul turned back to Daryl, very carefully touching his shoulder.

“It’ll be ok, I know you probably wont take my word for it but the others don’t blame you. When we get back to hilltop you can talk to Maggie, she’s doing good, her and the baby. She’s the one who sent me out here. I swear, they don’t blame you for a thing, but they are going to blame me for a _lot_ if we don’t get you back to the hilltop soon. I’m already late.”

“The fuck you mean she’s doing good, she’s fucking dead and buried in Alexandria. I saw her _grave._ ” Daryl spat the last part, swinging to face Paul and dislodging his hand from his shoulder. Paul recognized the look in his eyes from the nights he used to watch shows like Animal Cops Huston with his parents, it was the look the pit bulls had in their eyes as they were dragged out of their pens. They knew that even now, facing the temptation of freedom, all they had to look forward to was death. Paul put his hands up again, palms out, placating.

“Listen Daryl, I know how that must have looked, but it was a trick. It was all a trick, Rick wanted Negan to believe that Maggie was dead, to protect her. Her and the baby. There was no way to tell you while you were there. I swear Daryl she’s alive, you just have to make it to Hilltop, you can see for yourself.”

   Daryl stared at him, fists clenching and unclenching, he still clearly didn’t believe Paul and didn’t trust him on top of that. a twig snapped behind them again and both men turned. This time it was definitely not a bird. The walker was maybe a hundred yards away, badly decomposed, with flesh hanging off it like ill-fitting clothes. Paul reached for his knives and eased to his feet. He looked back down at Daryl who was still crouched on the roadside.

“It’s not like I’m not enjoying this pleasant heart to heart but if we stay here much longer its not just going to be the dead who takes an interest. Believe me or don’t, I honestly don’t give a fuck, what could I do by getting you back to the hilltop that would be worse than the saviors catching us both.

   If I wanted them to find you I could have just taken the keys and left you there. It took both you and rick to take me down last time, do you really think you’re in any shape to beat me in a fight. ” This was clearly the wrong thing to say because Daryl was on his feet in an instant, crowding into his space.

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you are, you little hippy freak.” Daryl snarled. Paul stepped back, turned around, and started walking.

“Where the hell are you going?” Daryl shouted after him, “you can’t just walk back to hilltop.” Paul flipped him off.

“Watch me asshole.” Admittedly, Paul doubted that he could walk all the way back to hilltop, he had hurt his shoulder and hip jumping out of that damn truck and he could already feel them slowing him down. Paul kept going until he heard the engine of the bike cough to life and crawl up beside him.

“Get the fuck on Jesus. I ain’t gonna be responsible if you get yourself killed.”

if Paul hadn’t known any better he would have said that Daryl sounded scared, maybe even apologetic, later he would cite this as the only reason he would ever have gotten back on that bike. As it was they spent the rest of the ride in relative silence, only breaking it for Paul to give Daryl directions.

Paul wanted to stay pissed off the whole time but between the shockingly sharp press of ribs under Daryl’s flannel, the way he tried to lean away from even Paul’s lightest touch to keep from falling off the bike, and the distinct smell of dejection (and much more distinct B.O.) that radiated off him it made it almost impossible.

By the time they pulled up to hilltop’s gates Paul felt like shit for starting the fight, he wasn’t going to apologize, but he would try to be more… passive. Maggie and Sasha came running when they heard the gates open and the engine come through, unfortunately so did Gregory. Well he didn’t really run, more like pompously sauntered. Paul hoped that a walker fell out of the sky on top of him.

When Gregory saw Daryl it looked as though one might as well have fallen on him, his eyes practically bugged out of his head and that saunter turned into a furious charge.

“Jesus,” he shouted, “what is the meaning of this? Margret and Susie said that you were out on a run. Not whatever _this_ is.”

“Maggie and Sasha.” Paul hissed under his breath. Daryl looked like he was about to tell Gregory exactly what _this_ was but before he could Paul got of the bike, stepping between Daryl and Gregory.

“Alright listen up.” he said, leveling Gregory with his best fuck-off stare, “Gregory you and I can talk this out, you can scream at me and tell me how I’m a traitor to hilltop and putting everyone here at risk and make vaguely nasty allusions to my sexuality, hell you can even act like you don’t actually know my name. But not right now, we can’t have that no doubt entertaining conversation. You’re going to have to wait until I get Daryl to the medical trailer, that shit’s non-negotiable.” Paul ignored Gregory’s spluttering outrage and turned back to Daryl, holding out his hand to help him off the bike.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here.”    


End file.
